Logic and Limerence
by Dena Gray
Summary: Life gave her avocados, but Hermione ended up with a gaff. A new job at Hogwarts helps her find the love she daydreams about, and the Headmaster is caught unawares. SSHG, AU, M for language and situations not sex, EWE, Cross-dressing, suggested bisexualism, suggested threesome, voyeurism, reference to gay porn, entirely too many reference notes, some weirdness. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Recipient:** Community! (originally intended for RiverTempest, but she had to drop out of the fest)  
 **Title:** Logic and Limerence  
 **Pairing:** Severus/Hermione, past Ron/Hermione, hints of past Severus/Lucius  
 **Rating:** M for content and language, not for smut  
 **Content:** Cross-dressing, suggested bisexualism, suggested threesome, voyeurism, betting, reference to gay porn, entirely too many reference notes, some weirdness.  
 **Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.  
 **Summary:** Life gave her avocados, but Hermione ended up with a gaff. A new job at Hogwarts helps her find the love she daydreams about, and the Headmaster is caught unawares. Complete in two parts.  
 **Author's Note:** Many thanks to Toblass for fielding the ideas in the first place and making sure I wasn't flat out insane :D Big thanks to Yiggersentia for alpha reading, you helped me turn this crazy idea into an actual story! Special thanks to WorryWart for beta reading, you made this story legible and helped make sure I was saying what I wanted to say! More notes at the end (probably too many). Super gigantic thanks to the SSHG community, for providing sanity in my life, where there is none.

 _Logic and Limerence by Dena Gray (aka Azalea_Nymph on LJ) in the SSHG Giftfest 2017_

 **Part One**

 _Right. You're going to go in there and just… what._ She sighed. _Just what exactly do you think you're going to waltz in there and say, Granger? You likely misunderstood his intentions and he'll laugh his face off, then it'll be a pink slip for you, won't it?_

But… he'd been so… nice, lately. He opened doors and conjured seats for her. To be honest, he did that for Minerva and Pomona…

He didn't do it for Aurora or Septima or Sybill. Then again, they only arrived back from summer the day before, so perhaps opportunity was a factor.

But he did do it for her...

 _And boy, did he!_ Do it for her, she meant.

Oh, what was she supposed to do?! What was she supposed to think? They were just about to start the fall semester of her first year teaching at Hogwarts and she'd gone and gotten herself a proper set of fantasies about the Headmaster.

Her mind instantly ran a mental reel of that set, her favorite being one where Professor Snape leaned in towards her in a deserted castle hallway, with one hand against the wall beside her head and just drawled her name into her ear. She shivered just thinking about it. Sometimes he even brushed his lips against the sensitive shell of her ear when he did it.

So sexy.

Another fantasy was of him pitching himself over her, over and over again in the throes of wild passion, staring his midnight eyes deeply into hers. His eyes only shuttered to half mast when he climaxed with a deep groan of her name.

So gone, was she.

There were so many fantasies that revolved around him, sometimes she couldn't look him in the eye for days.

Of course, it was all innocence in the beginning. She'd just cut loose from a ten year, extremely unproductive marriage to Ron. As a result, her work performance suffered in the Office for Pre-Alphabetic Translations for the Department of Mysteries and she was offered to bow out or be fired. Apparently, her irreverent use of 'degrees' versus 'daghrise' in a medieval Norse transcription was the final straw in a pile of increasingly flippant translations. Being thoroughly done with their pedantry, she gracefully bowed out.

Within the hour, she'd gotten a slew of owls from prospective employers, as well as a blistering, gloating howler from Molly telling her it was only right that she leave and let poor Ron work at the Ministry in peace.

Somehow Molly never got the message that not only wasn't Hermione an Auror like Ron (Pfft! As if!), but that her youngest son was the one to blame for their marriage's failure. Hermione could overlook many things, and was actually quite open-minded about sexuality, but Ron chose to keep his side profession, sex life and preference for men private from his wife. The enormity of that lie was too bitter a pill to swallow.

And so they parted, and Hermione promptly answered to Molly's howler with a copied WVD (Wizarding Video Disc) of Ron's rather avocado sex tapes. The flicks were actually quite good, and Hermione found herself a bit disappointed he felt he couldn't share that part of his life with her. After all, exploration was a key point in any relationship.

The next day, she'd gotten rather tired from the post and hexed her window against owls. They tried the door, to no avail, and since she had no fireplace in her humble little bedsit in Kensington, she felt she was safe.

The splat of a letter landing in her skillet full of vegetables by way of the extractor hood said otherwise.

Hogwarts letters always found their way, didn't they? She smiled a small smile in remembrance of the tales Harry told his kids over and over about the insistent Hogwarts letters when he turned eleven, then ran her wand over it to lift, dry and test the letter for mischief before opening it.

The letter was from the Headmaster himself and shouldn't have shocked her more than Ron telling her she needed a penis and a beard to please him, but it did. Aside from the odd thought flitting through her head to obtain some polyjuice to do so, Hermione just couldn't find a way to tell Ron no when he asked for a divorce, same as she couldn't possibly turn down the offer of a lifetime: Come work at Hogwarts.

Professor Snape asked her to apply for the position of Ancient Runes professor. Why would he offer Hermione a position at all? What happened to Professor Babbling?

Her mind spun all night after she immediately replied with the enclosed application. It was extremely early the next morning when the same delivery method awaited her on the cold electric burner of her cooker top. It only said,

"Ten A.M."

She rightfully understood that to be her interview time and quickly got through her morning ablutions before apparating to the Hogwarts gates.

Since it was the middle of July, she wasn't sure what to expect, but it seemed appropriate that Hagrid was there to meet her.

"'Ermione Granger, what a sight for sore eyes. Are you goin' to be taking over for Perfessor Babbling?"

Hermione smiled at the familiar face and immediately felt the pang of loss for the friendship they'd had during her time in school. "Good morning, Hagrid. I'm not sure. The headmaster asked me to apply, so I assume there's a process to go through first."

He pulled a large red cloth with white polka dots out of his trouser pocket, waved it at her, and wiped his nose with it before tucking it back into his pocket. "Bah. You've a shoe in, that's for certain. Who wouldn't want you teaching at Hogwarts?"

"That's very kind of you, Hagrid, but whatever happened to Professor Babbling? I had no idea she'd left."

"Well...I imagine it had somethin' to do wi' her brother, Suleiman. He took sick in the spring, and she left before the term ended. Never came back, I guess."

Hermione smiled at Hagrid's butchering of Professor Babbling's brother's name ("Sue-Layman", indeed) and tried to search for another topic of conversation as the walked up to the main doors. "How is Grawp?"

He grinned somewhere inside his great black beard, "Aw, now, lookat you rememberin' my baby brother. Grawpie's doing jus' fine, jus' fine, thanks fer askin'. He's made some new friends with a herd o' hippogriffs that settled in."

They were distracted by a series of squawks and what might have been thunder in the distance. Hagrid chuckled. "Heh, sounds like he's playing wit em now."

She bit her lip and smiled, but that faded away as she realized they'd made it up the drive. The great doors loomed over them both.

A shadow, darker than the battle scarred doors, turned just in front to greet them.

"Hagrid," Professor Snape's deep baritone voice dropped out of the shadows, down the steps towards them. "Thank you for escorting our guest. I shall take it from here."

Hagrid's grin faltered slightly, but he nodded in acceptance. "Anytime, Perfessor, anytime. You know that. Place'll be right cheery with Hermione back, eh?" The half-giant's large hand landed against Hermione's shoulder, tossing her slightly forward and stealing her breath. The Headmaster's beetle-black eyes saw her falter and watched her start to ascend the stone steps.

He barely missed a beat in retort, but kept his eyes on her, "Indeed."

When she reached the top step, she turned back to her escort. "Um, thanks for seeing me up, Hagrid. Good afternoon."

He waved and ambled away, muttering about his pumpkin patch. Hermione turned and stared at the imposing man in front of her.

He stared back, stiffening his posture even further as he suffered her scrutiny. She blushed, but smiled. His imposing form seemed somehow less sharpened danger and more controlled power than before.

This was the most magically powerful man alive, some would say. She didn't think anyone would argue that point, seeing what she saw now. His once black, greasy hair was now long and shiny. His afore-renowned sallow complexion shone a healthy Scottish pale. His dark eyes glittered instead of glared and his fingers no longer seemed puffy and jaundiced. He looked professional and powerful, every inch a master of himself and his school.

It was as if he were a different man.

Perhaps it was right to treat him as such.

She stuck out her hand to shake in greeting, as she would any other prospective employer. He stared down at it and hesitantly met the tips of her fingers with his own in a tight short grasp, letting go almost immediately. Her fingers tingled with the leftover sensation, and the charge from the sheer power crackling off his casual touch left her dazed and… curious.

The doors opened to him without the slightest hesitation as he turned away from her, gesturing for her to follow into the darkened hallway beyond and she was left to hurry after him up the copious and familiar stairs. His hand flicked out casually to the right and she thought he was flinging something inconsequential, like lint or a piece of hair off his robes, but no. No, that casual flick of his fingers shut the gigantic doors that even Dumbledore had needed a wand to move.

That was the beginning of her curiosity and fascination with the man. The interview was a disjointed and confusing litany of seemingly odd questions that left her off-kilter and unsure.

He sat her down and stared at her over his steepled fingers as he took up the Headmaster's chair, abyssal eyes holding her captive enough that she missed the first question and had to ask him to repeat himself.

There were some normal questions, like why did she leave her previous job and describe herself in three words, but there were also strange questions. The one that nearly had her in tears was which one of her parents did she like more?

She dropped her eyes at that question and said something like she'd learned very much from both parents, but quickly evaded the topic. Even that awkwardness was offset by her distraction from Professor Snape's steepled fingers rhythmically tapping against his lips. Constantly forcing her eyes up to meet his was extremely disconcerting, especially when he displayed a knowing glimmer in his eyes. It was all she could do to remind herself that this was a job interview, not the classroom.

Astoundingly, she'd been hired almost immediately. He merely signed the paperwork on his desk and spun it around for her signature. She hesitated, waiting for him to hand her the quill, but he seemed absorbed with running his fingers along the vane. Hermione became equally absorbed and found herself hypnotized, wondering if the feather quill would become magically charged with his casual handling. He finally seemed to notice her waiting and staring. Clearing his throat, he handed the quill back to her. A tiny shock of static electricity (does magic even do that, she wondered?) arced to her fingers, causing her to hesitate before grabbing hold of the quill.

She murmured a quick 'thank you' and slipped her gaze down the parchment reviewing the position and its entailments. Once she'd read through everything, she dipped the quill in the proffered India ink and signed where required.

As soon as the last flourish of her regained maiden name left the nib of her quill, the parchment snapped closed and with a brief golden flash and an obnoxious pop, promptly disappeared. She looked to her new employer.

"Is that it?"

His gaze was steady and unmoving for several moments before he inhaled and answered, "It is. Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Granger."

Over the next month, she met with the Headmaster regularly to review her schedules and syllabi. Most of the time, she met in tandem with him and the Deputy Headmistress, still Professor McGonagall. Professor Sprout popped in and out, as well as other professors who came and went throughout the summer, and her initial nervousness relaxed into a happy congeniality.

One could almost say she felt as if she belonged.

As July became August, and the heat baked through the castle walls on the upper floors, Hermione started spending more time in her classroom - which was situated in the dungeons - as opposed to her office - which was situated on the fourth floor. The blessedly cool air in the bowels of Hogwarts was a godsend, but it didn't completely escape the heat. Outer robes were removed, and sleeves rolled up. Even with cooling charms, the heat was almost unbearable.

How the headmaster could survive in his signature full-on wool kit was mind boggling.

It was there, in the depths of the dungeons, three doors down from his old potions classroom, that Hermione was first visited by the Headmaster. Up until that point in time, he'd only met her in his office or they mutually met on the grounds. He'd never taken the initiative to come to her.

She was intent upon back-researching a trade article for use with her seventh year class, when someone cleared their throat in front of her desk. Her head snapped up in surprise, causing her to nearly spill her ink as her quill went flying.

With a deft flick of his fingers, the headmaster arrested the quill and plucked it out of the air, but didn't hand it back, choosing instead to fondle the quill, as he so often did. She marveled at the show of magical mastery and silently vowed to brush up on casting wandlessly.

"Professor Snape, how lovely to see you. May I help you?"

He blinked, and a corner of his mouth tucked up with some unrevealed humor before hiding back in its stark lines once more. She was distracted by his fingers sliding through the feather quill's vanes again and nearly didn't hear his reply. "I was checking with Professor Frost that he'd gotten the start of term potions ingredients inventory up to par, and thought to check on you while I was down here."

Hermione smiled at his thoughtfulness and decided to take advantage of their new familiarity. She stood up as she replied, "I'm sure that thoughts of escaping the heavy heat of the upper floors didn't hurt that decision, either, did it?"

He merely nodded. "Just so. Have you spoken much with Professor Frost?"

"Charles, right?" She waited until Professor Snape confirmed the potions professor's given name before continuing, "No, not much. He seems to keep to Rolanda's group. We greet each other in the halls." When Professor Snape stared at her as if he were waiting on something else, she continued, "Have you found a replacement for Professor Binns, yet?"

His expression shuttered, "I have a lead, yes. They are coming in the next few days to review the post."

She nodded absently while watching him delve his fingers into the downy base of the quill, right near the shaft. "I hope you are successful. It seems frightfully close to the start of term."

"I agree, but not every position has such easy candidates as you."

She blushed and looked down at his hands again. He had stepped forward and was tracing the edge of the inkwell stand with the tips of his fingers. In her amazement at his compliment, she'd missed him placing the quill down on its rest.

Hermione tried to recover some equilibrium by asking, "Won't you sit down-?"

"I should get back-", he said at the same time as she spoke.

They stopped and stared at each other for a moment, but Hermione smiled down to the floor in concession. "I'm sure you've got better things to do than sit for a chat. Thank you for checking in on me."

When he didn't move, her eyes crept up from the floor in curiosity. He was staring at her as if he were coming to some sort of decision. It was rather intense, looking at each other like this.

As the Headmaster stood there likely debating his schedule, looking like intensity steeped, Hermione stood still, held captive by his regard. He then advanced upon her, slowly, until he'd backed her up against the wall behind her desk. Pressing a hand to the stone behind her head, he licked his lips and leaned in to breathe against her ear.

"Hermione … I'd much rather stay here with you, strip you down and lick every inch of your skin until you burned for me, but-"

In reality and from across the room, he merely said, "Perhaps some other time."

She gasped slightly and rapidly blinked her way back out of her daydream. "Y-yes, please, I'd like that."

He nodded from across the room and disappeared around the door post rather quickly.

Her breath left her in a great whoosh and she fell back against her desk. "Lord Almighty, I'm done for."

She looked back at the open doorway and shook her head in wonder. That was one hell of a daydream! Perhaps she could let herself have just this one fantasy. She started fanning herself and thanked God she had the excuse of summer for her heat.

Later that night, she had a terrifying thought. What if the Headmaster, a hugely accomplished Legilimens, knew exactly what had gone through her hormone-starved brain as they stood in her classroom? What if that was why he'd run off?

It was even later that night, in bed, when the idea formed in her head that perhaps that's to what he was referring when he'd said 'perhaps another time'.

Her blush could not be contained the next morning at breakfast, especially when as she sat down at the head table (at the end like a good little ew professor) the Headmaster walked in shortly after. As he passed behind her, he leaned down close to her head and murmured "Good morning." She wasn't sure, but he might have brushed up against her hair before walking away.

Her face was as red as a tomato for hours afterwards, but she'd easily smiled and returned "Good morning".

That one scene whirled through her brain for days, expanding exponentially, affecting every interaction she had with Professor Snape deeply. Staff meetings became filled with opportunities for fantasy.

The best part was, she really thought he might be actively flirting with her. It wasn't just conjuring chairs for her or opening doors. He really listened when she spoke. And whenever Minerva got long winded at staff meetings, he usually shared a quick … well, she supposed she could call it a glimmer, with her. His eyes would go half mast and cut in her direction and the set of his lips would twitch ever so slightly, like they were sharing a joke.

It was hard getting through those staff meetings, but she muddled through with her little fantasies. Sometimes, when she was particularly lost in a good one, the Headmaster would wait until the room cleared, lean down behind her chair and say something witty that usually made her jump and laugh in nervous surprise.

This time, it was clear.

She'd been imagining him stealing her away into a dark alcove and having his wicked way with her, and she was just about to slide south for some cock-a-licky soup when her ears tingled with a soft, baritone chuckle.

"I should just carry you down and throw you in the Black Lake. Perhaps that will slake your thirst."

Her nerves zapped through her body and she cried out in surprise, "Oh! Headmaster, I'm terribly sorry for not paying attention. And, um … well I'm not thirsty…?"

She turned her head to stare in confusion, but he hadn't moved. They were inches apart and his eyes were roaming her face, finally landing on her lips. "You were sighing and licking your lips like you were adrift in the desert. If you are not thirsty, then…?"

Her blush stung her cheeks and she looked down at her hands. She couldn't possibly say the truth, so what could she do? "I… um… I'm sorry, I won't do it again. You must be frightfully frustrated to have to constantly snap me out of my daydreams. I can't imagine what you must think of me."

He stood up and she took the opportunity to do the same, gathering her notes close to her chest in a sort of protective defense. When he said nothing else, she started to leave, but he stopped her with a feather-light touch on her sleeve.

And oh, that sleeve burned her. The heat of that slight touch made her whole body quiver. She gulped and turned her head towards him.

"I think very well of you, Hermione."

Her eyes widened and she held her breath. He'd said her name! It was lovely in his mouth and she couldn't help the immediate thoughts as to what else would be lovely in his mouth. Her face stained dark with embarrassment again, but before either of them could do a thing about what just happened, Minerva popped her head around the door.

"Severus, don't forget you've got your second interview for the Histories Professor in a few minutes. I just saw the back of Argus taking someone up to your office."

She left without any further ado (or _adieu_ , for that matter) and the moment was lost.

The Headmaster inclined his head and sighed, "Good evening, Professor Granger. Duty calls."

Smiling in ill-concealed disappointment, she replied, "Of course, Headmaster. Have a good evening."

After a few moments hesitation, she trailed after him as far as the fourth floor, and then departed for her rooms, watching him smoothly climb the stairs above her as far as she could.

That man had a wonderful arse, she just knew it. If only she could figure out a way to see it. Hermione smiled at her silly self and gave her password to a portrait of a lovely lady and her Cavalier King Charles spaniel.

"Limerence."

The lady in pink smiled her acceptance, and the dog barked until she petted its painted head. Hermione slipped through the portrait hole and leaned against the wooden door that backed it on the side of her living quarters.

What was she going to do?

.o.

Severus wanted Hermione. He wanted her like nothing else he'd ever wanted in his adult life. It was maddening.

He climbed the seemingly endless stairs to his office and wondered when the hell it had happened? Of course, she'd been interesting to him as she showed her mettle in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries. They didn't keep her much secret since it would be foolhardy to try and hide one of the Golden Trio among their ranks, especially since her speciality had been runic translations, and it was easy enough to keep her works under wraps.

Every now and again, however, she'd make a brilliant connection between languages both written and spoken, and she'd publish a paper for it.

He'd read them at first just to keep up on gossip. Minerva came into his office that day, having kittens over her star pupil. He'd reminded her quickly that Madame Granger-Weasley was no longer her pupil, and asked her to please focus on her current batch of cubs. The girl's marriage had remained a point of contention amongst the teachers, so throwing that in Minerva's face to distract her from his interest was easy.

Once he'd actually read that first publication, it was natural he'd read the next...and the next.

Her mind was really quite brilliant. No wonder she'd embarrassed him with the speedy solution to his logic problem in her first year. With logic leaps like that, her chosen profession was a fait accompli.

Apparently, so had boredom been. Within ten years (he thanked Rolanda graciously when she delivered that pot of winnings), she'd gotten bored of both husband and job.

His mind warred with itself for several hours after he'd been informed of that little bit of intelligence. Should he invite her to fill Babbling's position? Should he not try and impose his own self interest in a Hogwarts teaching position? Surely it wouldn't be such a crime to have someone new and interesting to talk to on staff.

It wasn't until she'd arrived alongside Hagrid, looking matured and beguiling, that he'd realized it might possibly have been a mistake in inviting her to interview. Her gangly, boyish body had filled out into soft, womanly curves that were only emphasized by the prim cut of her robes. Where her hair had once resembled a bramble or a tumbleweed, sticking out in nearly every direction, it now fell in soft waves, heavy down her back from the combs used to pull it away from her face. She used to be brash and bowling in her behavior and that seemed now tempered into a more considerate and concerned disposition.

Even the air between them seemed crackling with anticipation. The moment their fingers touched on the front steps, he felt the arc of something new and intriguing speed up his arm. Granted, he was more in touch with the castle's magic than he had any right to be, but the old girl had embraced him as her protector and so graced him with a connection to her magic. He'd thought that perhaps it was the castle hinting that she accepted Madame - no - Miss Granger as a professor.

As the weeks went by, he wondered.

At first, it was courteous to hold a door open or hold out a chair for her, but soon it became a bit of a game with him. How deeply would she blush? Would she look him in the eye when she thanked him this time? He listened for the changing pitch of her voice, each response coming lower and more breathy with each passing day.

He was especially curious as to what sent her eyes off in a faraway daydream so often. He'd never pegged Miss Granger as a dreamer, but it was more often than not that he'd ended a staff meeting prematurely simply to sneak up behind her while she was still caught in the web of her daydream to try and glean some semblance of the subject.

It was distracting, and never more so than after his first visit to her classroom. The new potions professor seemed to have everything in order, and at the time, Severus had a few extra moments available. With a free moment at his hands, it seemed like a good idea to find out if Professor Granger was settling in.

As soon as he'd stepped into the nearly empty room, he was arrested by the sight before him. His new Ancient Runes professor had buried herself in scrolls. One of the clerestory windows high up on the walls was beaming late afternoon sunlight over her shoulder, reflecting the soft ivory parchment back up to her face. Her heavy curls were twisted up and listing from atop her head where three white quills - matching the one she was writing with - were homed.

He didn't think she was aware, but she was muttering to herself. He stepped closer to catch her attention to no avail, and then cleared his throat politely.

She continued to ignore him and he considered leaving, but he was interested in what she was so intent upon. He shifted closer to her desk, tilting his head to try and see what she was writing on a loose piece of onionskin next to a heavy parchment scroll that looked Pictish, if his memory served him right.

She started rummaging through the layers of scrolls on her desk and he started to leave again, but she murmured with a low growl, "Son of a troll." He stepped almost up to her desk just as she pulled out a trade publication he couldn't see the title of, and quickly flipped through the pages to find something specific. "How can they say that Pictish runes are a written language, they're clearly..."

He narrowed his eyes. Why wouldn't the runes be a written language? The repetition of size and lack of progression always seemed to him to be saying something in a planned manner, rather than merely triggering an entire theme. Severus opened his mouth once more, but paused when she stopped tapping the quill at her lips and started writing furiously, the nib scratching dry before she realized she needed more ink.

Her mutterings continued and she pulled out an L-shaped ruler that looked like his da's old framing square without the long leg of the triangle and proceeded to use it to block off sections of the runes, one at a time.

"They _are_ …" her voice wandered off in a haze of thought, and Severus blinked in growing admiration of the woman before him.

He'd normally have to spell out his ideas to people to get them to think along the same lines, but she'd intuitively gone down the same path without provocation. He knew he'd made the right choice in hiring Miss Granger, but she had all the markings of a scholar.

She'd just started tapping the quill to her lips again, when he finally realized he was wasting time and cleared his throat loudly. Her concentration imploded, sending her quill flying, which he'd amended with a deft flick of his fingers. He was looking at the quills in her hair just before she spoke,

"Professor Snape, how lovely to see you. May I help you?"

The entire mass of her hair that had so precariously sat atop her head was slowly sliding down to the right and stopped just shy of tumbling completely down by sheer stubbornness.

"I was checking with Professor Frost that he'd gotten the start of term potions ingredients inventory up to par, and thought to check on you while I was down here."

He shifted back slightly as she stood up and came round the side of her desk to face him. Her teasing smirk was delightful, but her tone of voice was downright inspiring, "I'm sure that thoughts of escaping the heavy heat of the upper floors didn't hurt that decision, either, did it?"

Fighting to control his response, he merely nodded. "Just so. Have you spoken much with Professor Frost?"

"Charles, right?"

Ah, so she knew the man's name. Granted, Professor Frost was a handsome young man with dark skin and hair, so it wasn't too surprising that Professor Granger made an effort to learn about him, but then again, he seemed more interested in Quidditch than he remembered her being (aside from that Bulgarian seeker, of course). When she hadn't continued, he nodded in encouragement.

Her smile was not exactly enamored, "No, not much. He seems to keep to Rolanda's group. We greet each other in the halls."

What did that mean, 'keep to Rolanda's group'? Perhaps the young man was more bent on sports than he previously realized? His mind wandered down the possible rabbit trails associated with figuring out Miss Granger's words, but he was brought back to the conversation when she asked another question, "Have you found a replacement for Professor Binns, yet?"

Yes, that had been annoying, to say the least. Two days after he'd signed on Professors Granger and Frost, Cuthbert Binns awakened from his centuries-old stupor and decided to cross over, leaving him with a gaping hole in the staff that would be hard to fill in the next few weeks. He'd written to Lucius immediately. The elder Malfoy was a renowned historian, among the other things gossip rags hounded him about recently, and if he wasn't interested in the position, then he could surely send someone Hogwarts' way. Lucius had written back almost immediately that he wanted the position for himself.

What that meant for the notoriety of his staff and his Ministry relations, he wasn't sure, but needs must. "I have a lead, yes. They are coming in the next few days to review the post."

She nodded and stared at him absently, then looked up to meet his eyes, her trust evident in her expression. "I hope you are successful. It seems frightfully close to the start of term."

"I agree, but not every position has such easy candidates as you." He was surprised at how easily that came out, but it was honesty. Her blush was charming as he busied himself with replacing the quill to her inkstand. It was an attractively chased piece of silver; he wondered who would give her such a thing. Did she buy it for herself, perhaps?

He chastised himself. There was no reason he needed to know these things about her. "I should get back-", he said at the same time as she spoke,

"Won't you sit down-?"

She-what? She wanted him to stay, so wasn't that a sign she was interested in his company? She certainly didn't act disinterested, he'd gotten enough of that from several of the younger professors over the years, Longbottom included.

Her voice was a little smaller, perhaps a little shy, when she amended her question to his statement, "I'm sure you've got better things to do than sit for a chat. Thank you for checking in on me."

What should he do? Should he stay? Should he leave? Wouldn't she give some further indication if she wanted him to stay for more than just scholarly discussion? 'Thank you for checking in on me.' Wasn't that invitation enough? She wanted him to attend her, wasn't that what she was saying?

"Oh yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

His breathing bottomed out as she deftly stepped very close to him and slid her hand up his chest, her eyes like silken chrysoberyls shimmering up at him with their pupils blown wide. "I want you to... _attend_ me."

He swallowed hard and inhaled, taking a step back out of the fantasy realm. His Occlumency shields slammed in place out of natural habit and, as he looked over to where she was actually standing, quite calmly, he realized that he wanted to... _attend_ her.

From a safe distance several paces away, he tried to smile, but failed. Now that he realized he wanted her, truly wanted her, for more than just conversation and lively staff meetings, he needed time to think. "Perhaps some other time," he'd said.

For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of himself in her eyes. Some leftover figment of her apparent imagination flit through her brain, and he was astounded to see himself invading her personal space against a wall.

And the only thing she'd said was, "Yes, please, I'd like that."

She'd like that.

Aside from her own thoughts, could she possibly know what he'd fantasized? If not, what did she mean? Was she so direct that she'd merely deferred to his wishes? Could he sit and simply chat with her, now that he knew he wanted more? That she wanted more, too?

He didn't know how to answer those questions at that particular moment, so he fled to bury himself in duty.

Those thoughts never left him that day, and he found he needed to stalk the halls for hours that night, calming his mind and thinking through his position and opportunity. If he were to keep it discreet, they could pursue whatever this was between them. How to start, though? Perhaps… perhaps if he were more direct? Hmph. He didn't want to be too direct, it might have the opposite effect to what he intended. Scaring her off would be counter-intuitive.

After wracking his brain for quite some time, he decided he'd merely be himself, just… interested.

Yes. Interested.

So he'd approached her the next morning at breakfast and wished her a good morning. She seemed pleased, and he'd had the added bonus of stealing an opportunity of brushing against her hair. That morning, it was pulled back with combs again, and it had tumbled over her shoulder, invading his nose as he leaned close to convey his greetings.

It smelled like almonds and honey.

He found himself addicted to the scent and took every opportunity he could to greet her the same way. Every damned time, she startled and blushed - her smile coming in varying degrees, depending on the day. He watched for telltale signs in her body language and he'd so far been gratified. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing became slightly shallow and, by gods, she _leaned_.

He wasn't sure if she even noticed, but whenever he was talking to her, her body tilted ever so slightly in his direction. Every time he noticed it, his heart sped up, wondering if she'd ever say anything or approach him. Perhaps he was too shy for his own good, but with his past, it was difficult to put his own heart on the table before being one hundred percent certain of her interest.

Today had nearly been the decision-maker, however. The moment he'd snagged her attention from wherever her mind wandered, he'd had a brief, perfect opportunity to catch another glimpse of her thoughts in her eyes. He stopped just shy of the gargoyle that guarded his final steps, and put out a hand to the wall to steady himself against that memory.

Her thoughts had been hazy...dark. Most of the brief image was black, save for a silver row of buttons and her hands. Those lovely, delicate hands of hers, with their India ink-stains, were creeping up the front of a man's trousers beneath that row of silver buttons.

He looked down at the front of his frock coat, more specifically to the line of tightly sewn, Hogwarts crest embossed _silver buttons._

So shocked was he at the recognition of himself in her daydream in such a compromising position, that he'd barely realized she'd stood up and moved away towards the door. Without thinking, he reached out to touch her sleeve in an effort to regain her attention.

It took a monumental leap of faith to tell her that he thought very well of her, and she seemed interested. He was just about to step closer to her when that old battle-cat, Minerva, interrupted them with news of the arrival of the next interviewee.

The tension between him and Hermione - he reiterated to himself it was acceptable to call her by her given name - dissipated with Minerva's leaving, and he gathered his cloak and his dignity around himself. He vaguely remembered saying something about duty calling, but he remembered very well the look of disappointment on Hermione's face as she bid him good evening.

That brought him back to himself, and he felt a soft pulse of encouragement from the castle wall. He smiled and patted the gray granite in affection, then pushed himself away from the wall towards the gargoyle guarding his stairway. The stone beast bowed in deference, opening the passageway without hesitation. The door at the top was open, so he could clearly see the sole living occupant of his office as he rounded the end of the escalating stairs.

What appeared to be a very well-dressed blonde woman sat relaxed in one of the soft leather armchairs leftover from Dumbledore's legacy. Her legs were crossed at the knee, and her arms were perched on the armrests, which left Severus with a view of her very bony, stocking-clad ankle beneath a froth of white lace and silvery green velvet.

Severus thought back to his schedule and blinked, stepping laterally towards his desk to get a better view. White-blonde hair was dressed in affected ringlets atop the woman's head and a silvery green velvet choker wrapped around her neck. To a casual observer, she looked like an eighteenth century portrait of an aristocratic woman, but to Severus, he was very familiar, indeed.

He sat with a long-suffering sigh into the high-backed Elizabethan leather and wood chair behind the headmaster's centuries-old oaken desk.

"Lucius? What the devil are you wearing?"

With a convincingly effeminate pitch to his voice, Lucius Malfoy tittered and asked, "Do you like it? I modeled it after Grandmother Lobelia Malfoy's portrait. She was flattered."

"I'm confused. Do you intend upon simply dressing as your grandmother, or are you applying for this position as a woman? You'll find we have a hard enough time keeping the children's attention without such a distraction as… large… as this, if this is simply a ruse." Severus didn't care much, himself, how Lucius wished to present his appearance. It had become rather obvious over the years that one's appearance mattered not, once the public opinion made its judgment.

"I wish to start over, and, after several periods of experimentation, I've decided I've become rather fond of living as a woman. I am applying to you with my own credentials, but I intend to teach at Hogwarts as my cousin: Miss Tres-Cerise Malfoy. Pleased to meet you."

Severus closed his eyes and narrowed his brow in an internal plea for patience and understanding. When his eyes opened, he tried to see what exactly it was that Lucius was trying to do. Far be it from him to deny someone's path to happiness, but… "Are you serious about this, or is this some flippant manner in which to gain more attention to yourself now that the wizarding public is less than enthusiastic about you than your son? Does Draco know you're doing this?"

Hesitation wavered in Lucius' gray eyes, and Severus knew his friend was serious about at least a part of this charade. "I - I haven't told Draco, no, but it is the main reason Narcissa and I separated. She...found me..."

Severus held up his hand when it seemed Lucius was having a hard time finishing that sentence, "I apologize for being harsh, old friend, I didn't mean to pry. Sometimes my protectiveness of the school overwhelms my duty to my friends." _Among other things_ , he thought to himself, remembering leaving Hermione in the staff room.

Lucius watched him for several moments, seemingly regaining his composure. When he spoke next, it was with all seriousness, "Severus, I've never felt more… free. I'll admit the name is a bit plebeian, but it's meant in good fun. I intend to dress and behave as a woman related to myself, not to be the notorious Lucius Malfoy everyone knows and… and _hates_."

Leaning back in his chair, Severus thought through what was and wasn't being said. "Are you… alright? Not the drag-thing, I couldn't give less of a damn, but… you seem like you're… I'm not sure. I mean, I've known quite personally for quite some time that sexuality was rather fluid for you, but this seems a little extreme… even for you."

A dark smirk and a snort were his initial responses. Lucius leaned forward, uncrossing his legs and scooting forward in the soft leather chair. "Would it be too cliché to say I'm running from myself? I'm tired of being a social pariah, Severus. I've paid for the wrongs I committed under that noseless monster, tenfold if you consider the financial donations alone. It's as if, no matter what I do, everyone just thinks I'll always be evil. My son can change and be welcomed to the fold, but not me. Never me."

"That's no reason to cross-dress, Lucius."

"Perhaps. Then again, you know my proclivities just as well as I do."

"This is a commitment to a lifestyle, not some costume party."

"Aye, but I've been doing this for about six months, now. Three, constantly, and it's been grand! I've even given myself an alibi: Tres-Cerise is an unfortunate cousin employed to care for the now house-bound and agoraphobic Lucius. She only needs to take care of correspondence and such, so there is enough free time for a teaching position to better earn her keep."

A silence sat between them for several moments in which Severus gathered his decision on letting a well-known historian and economist teach his students versus the thought of his old friend likely needing more time to adjust to a new lifestyle that perhaps wasn't stable enough to be tested round the clock. Then again, Lucius just told him he'd been doing this constantly for three months and had carefully thought through his own alibi. The headmaster was torn. Lucius - hmm, Tres-Cerise - was more than qualified to teach magical history, but…

He stopped and looked at what his eyes saw and not what his mind projected. Before him was a beautiful, composed woman with vast knowledge and intense dedication. He sighed and nodded, pulling the contract out of his top drawer and signing his name to it before turning it around to hand off to… Miss Malfoy.

He toyed with the quill for a moment, deciding if he should employ the person in front of him as an old friend or a new one.

Lucius smirked and disrupted his thoughts, "Are you fucking with me, or are you that interested in feeling up the quill?"

"What?" Severus looked down at the quill in his fingers and handed it over to Lucius without thought. "I don't know what you mean."

"You were fondling the damned thing right in front of me. Were you perhaps remembering that lovely night in my dungeons? I teased you with that ostrich feather for hours."

"And I sneezed for three days afterwards. I told you, I'm allergic to ostrich."

"Here I was, thinking you were merely protesting to heighten the mood. You never used the safe word, after all."

" _Miss_ Malfoy, no one can ever remember your ridiculous safe-words. Sign the damned contract and begone with you. I expect you to be here with your full course of syllabi outlined by Monday at ten."

"As you wish, my dear Headmaster."

They shared a conspiratorial smirk across his desk and in that moment of silence, a very small, mouse-like gasp could be heard, just before the light tapping of feet down the stairs.

Severus' eyes spun to the peering glass immediately to his left hand to see who was exiting his staircase and saw… " _Hermione_."

"Granger? Wasn't she married to that Weasley boy who made those delightful gay porn flicks?"

Severus was very nearing devastation and all Lucius could think about was that? Months of planning and tip-toeing, gone in a moment's unguarded conversation with someone he'd not shared sexual favors with in several decades. He blindly looked around his desk for an answer and exhaled heavily, "Fuck."

"Well, if you say so."

He glanced up sharply at Lucius' flippancy and ground his teeth. "No! Lucius - dammit - whatever your name is! She just overheard our conversation, and I'm sure she thinks the worst of it."

"And?"

He returned a stony look to the blank nonchalance of his old friend.

It was only a few short moments before Lucius realized what was really going on and a smile spread quickly across his lightly rouged lips. "Oh, really! How very fascinating!"

Severus turned pleading eyes to Malfoy. "I had just gotten to the point of - now she's surely - Damn it, Malfoy, don't just sit there, do something!"

She- he- whatever the hell pronoun the person in front of him was, sat back in surprise. "What in the nine circles of hell am I supposed to do about this?"

The panicked headmaster flung his arm towards the stairs. "Go tell her we're not involved!"

Lucius merely tilted her head. "Why don't you?"

He buried his head in his hands, tugging slightly on the dark locks. "It'll sound better coming from you."

"Oh? As Lucius or as Tres-Cerise?"

He threw his hands down to the green leather desk blotter and growled, "I don't give a damn!"

It was a moment, but Lucius' face curled into a smile. "Very well."

Severus' head tilted in surprise. "What? You will?" Honestly, he was only panicking and surely Lucius knew that, but if he actually would go talk to Hermione, it would pave the way for when he worked up the nerve to do it himself.

Lucius' smile softened and for a moment, the headmaster was convinced of the femininity before him. "Severus… I can't remember the last time you were interested in someone. I also don't have any other friends that wouldn't have blinked an eye at me showing up to a job interview, much less, dressed as some Georgian Era gilflurt."

Severus' eyes narrowed, searching his vast vocabulary for the term and coming up empty. "A what?"

His old friend unhooked a silk fan from somewhere on his skirt. "History-obsessed, remember?"

"Lucius-"

The fan snapped open with a sharp sound. "Never mind, dear. Just let old Tres-Cerise take care of this. You'll have your darling Hermione back before you know it."

"Well, we haven't exactly-"

"Shush." Tres-Cerise closed her fan to her palm with a confident smile and pointed it at Severus. "Before. You. Know it." At that, she flounced out of the office and down the stairs, in the general direction Hermione had gone.

"But you have no idea where to find her." His call fell to an empty room. Severus sat back in his chair, covered his face with his hands and groaned, "What have I done?"

Several mutterings were heard from the portraits, but most were shut down by the harsh admonishments of Headmaster Black. "Let the man think, for Merlin's sake. Do you want him to break out the turpentine again?" Several painted eyes likely darted to the curiously white-blank section of Dumbledore's portrait where a candy dish full of lemon drops should have been.

Silence prevailed.

His mind ticked away through all the possible outcomes and ways he might be able to rectify the situation with Hermione. By all rights, he should just use the castle's magic to find her and go explain, but when it came down to it, he was unsure of his reception. Perhaps he should try to stop Lucius - Tres-Cerise - whatever.

He was about to do just that, when he saw movement in the peering glass by his side indicating someone coming up the headmaster's stairs. According to the obnoxious pile of white-blonde ringlets atop the interloper's head, Lucius had turned around after realizing he'd not been able to find Hermione so easily.

He didn't even bother to knock, just breezed in as if he...she owned the place. At first, he thought that she'd come back to lecture him, but she was ignoring him for digging through the cushions on the soft leather chair she'd occupied previously. After several moments of rummaging through the upholstery, Severus was about to ask if she needed help, when she stood, triumphantly grasping her wand in her left hand.

"Aha! Damned nuisance having to keep track of this thing without sleeves."

Before he could wrap his mind around that, she whirled around to face Severus. Once the flurry of skirts rustled to a stop in front of the massive headmaster's desk, Tres-Cerise practiced her pout in full force. "You could at least give me a hint as to where to find the poor girl, if I'm to go fix this debacle of yours."

Caught mid-rise from his seat, Severus' right eyebrow slid up in question. "Poor girl? Debacle of _mine_?"

Tres-Cerise rejoined with an eyebrow of her own and a downward tilt of her maquillaged face. "Do you want me to help, or not? I believe the words were, 'don't just sit there, do something!'"

As the headmaster formulated his reply, Tres-Cerise took her seat again with a very feminine descent and a fan-pop.

Severus was slightly disconcerted at how easy it was to think of Lucius as a woman. "It's probably for the best you didn't." Before Tres-Cerise completed the affront forming on her face, he continued, "I'm sure it'll be fine. Besides, she likely didn't hear anything… She's a smart woman."

Her fan folded slowly down to rest in her lap as her eyes narrowed. "Do you hear yourself? Are you so concerned for her reaction that you'd rather avoid it?"

"No!" Severus grimaced as he realized how defensive that sounded. He softened his tone and continued, "Not at all. I just… prefer not to jump to conclusions if I can help it."

"Hmm." Miss Malfoy's face was rather doubtful. After a few moments of awkward silence where the two old friends tried to outwait the other for a response, Tres-Cerise/Lucius shrugged insouciantly. "Well, if there's nothing left for me to do for your highness, I believe I shall retire to the manor. As you so gracefully requested, I'll return at the start of the week."

Still standing, the headmaster just tossed his head towards the door. "Get."

The apparent woman before him stood with a huffed, "Git."

Catching the difference, Severus crossed his arms over his chest and blandly retorted, "As you say."

Tres-Cerise tossed her curls back over her shoulder and conjured a traveling cloak to spin about her shoulders. "I do say."

"Lucius-"

She waved her hand in dismissal, "Fine, fine, I'm leaving. Please save me the gossip on any further developments with the girl."

Without even caring to find out Severus' take on that, Tres-Cerise left once more. This time, he took care to glare at both her back as she left and her image in the peering glass. As he waited to feel Lucius leave the grounds, he sat back in his leather-padded chair and sighed a correction, "Woman".


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

Hermione wasn't sure exactly what it was that made her think that approaching the Headmaster about a relationship was such a good idea.

Perhaps it was his words, " _I think very well of you, Hermione."_ How could a woman _not_ feel the need to respond to that?

Perhaps it was the combination of words and deeds. Thinking back, she could swear he'd played with her hair a time or two. It was difficult to say without actually having eyes in the back of her head, but there were times when he was behind her, either standing or moving, that the back of her neck just _twitched._

She thought about that and the way he constantly toyed with the plumulaceous portion of a quill. It wasn't clear if he knew he did it or not, but it was fascinating watching his hands delve and stroke the downy afterfeather.

That was what she'd seen when she peeked through the gap in the door to the headmaster's office. He'd been playing with a quill again, only this time, he was doing it in front of another woman.

From what she could see, it appeared that this was the candidate for the History of Magic position the headmaster had alluded to before. Hermione was caught up in trying to see what she looked like - beautiful silvery-blonde hair, a long neck and very expensive-looking robes - when the woman's voice broke through with it's rich, husky alto,

"Are you fucking with me, or are you that interested in feeling up the quill?"

Hermione blinked twice in shock. She'd have been mortified to be so rough-spoken in front of Professor Snape! The man was like a walking guide on proper speech, even the slightest incorrect grammar made her blush in embarrassment.

"What?" He looked just as surprised, but simply looked at the quill in his hands before handing it over. "I don't know what you mean."

The woman's profile was somehow familiar… "You were fondling the damned thing right in front of me. Were you perhaps remembering that lovely night in my dungeons? I teased you with that ostrich feather for hours."

Hermione's eyes widened in confusion and she promptly forgot about trying to figure out who the woman was. Could she have been so wrong? Was Snape not interested in her at all? This beautiful creature sitting in front of him sat and smirked with her apparently carnal knowledge of the Headmaster. She strained to hear his response, hoping desperately that she'd misunderstood.

His deadpan answer wasn't very clarifying. "And I sneezed for three days afterwards. I told you, I'm allergic to ostrich."

The dark man didn't seem to share the same loose camaraderie implied by the woman's words, but he certainly shared the memory. Every word they said just made Hermione feel smaller and smaller.

"Here I was, thinking you were merely protesting to heighten the mood. You never used the safe word, after all."

" _Miss_ Malfoy, no one can ever remember your ridiculous safe-words. Sign the damned contract and begone with you. I expect you to be here with your full course of syllabi outlined by Monday at ten."

Safe words. Ostrich feathers. Lovely nights… Miss Malfoy…

"As you wish, my dear Headmaster."

My dear Headmaster. Her voice was like melted chocolate, or warm syrup. Everything carnal and seductive that Hermione's high clarion voice couldn't possibly produce.

She looked, really looked at the couple sitting in front of her at the headmaster's desk, sharing a look over the signed contract before it snapped closed and popped off to the Board of Governors. They looked like they knew each other well.

Very well.

She didn't stand a chance with someone like this on staff. What had she been thinking? Stupid, stupid girl! With a hitch in her throat, she staved off her tears, left the stairwell as quietly as she could and practically ran back to her rooms.

Skidding to a halt in front of her portrait, the lady with the small brown and white dog didn't even bother waiting for her password. The portrait frame swung open, Hermione stumbled through, and groped her way over to her sofa - a soft, buttery yellow sleeper that reminded her of her gran's house with its chintzy floral skirting and matching, downy pillows.

She pulled one of those large, square pillows to her chest and buried most of her face in it, keeping her eyes focused on the coffee table in front of her. She stared at the table with its plain, sturdy, oak wood. That's who she was: a chintzy yellow sofa in front of a sturdy oak coffee table.

Miss Malfoy was a luxurious, velvet chaise next to a high-polished marquetry and mahogany antique.

She focused on that imagery for a while, and whenever her heart started easing her pain by saying she'd likely misunderstood, she remembered it. Breathing in and out in a steadying pattern, she calmed and accepted that Professor Snape had, of course, had a past. The unidentified Malfoy woman had been flirting with a familiarity that left little room for doubt, but the Headmaster hadn't overtly carried through with the flirtation… right?

He'd actually… yes, he'd actually told the woman off, hadn't he?

Okay. She breathed in slowly and deeply, then let it out, raising her head from the pillow that she still held close to her body. It _was_ comforting, after all. Okay. Perhaps patience would be the right route. She'd see how Snape acted around her in the next day or so, and Monday… well, she could see again when Miss Malfoy came back, how they acted around each other.

That was the logical thing to do, and Hermione was nothing if not logical. She'd not let her divorce or job loss get her down, so why should Severus Snape do so?

Well, apparently that was easier said than done.

Hermione had spent an inordinate amount of time making herself look a bit more composed the next morning, but to no avail. The Headmaster was nowhere to be found. Convincing herself she needed to ask a question about her seventh year curriculum now instead of later, she had searched quite a bit of the castle. By lunchtime, she'd even convinced herself that the question was absolutely necessary to ask as soon as possible, so went in search for Professor McGonagall. If the Deputy Headmistress just so happened to also know where Professor Snape was, well, then all the better.

The familiar office of the Head of Gryffindor greeted her with its plaid and leather splendor, reminiscent of an old hunt club lounge. It was common for the Head of House to leave her office door open when she was there, in order to promote a more open and welcoming atmosphere. Hermione felt a slight tension ease behind her heart in its familiarity, and a smile loosened her lips. Knocking gently on the ancient and heavy walnut door, she waited patiently for the older woman to acknowledge her. Hearing a record playing a soft old tune prompted Hermione to knock again, more firmly.

"Ah, Hermione, dear. Do come in." The warm salutation melted the last bit of trepidation in the new professor's quest. She smiled at her mentor and made her way to stand a few steps behind one of the dark burgundy tufted leather armchairs facing Professor McGonagall. The older woman smiled in return, glanced to one of the chairs, and placed her neatly trimmed quill on its smart brass rest at the top of her matching burgundy blotter with golden filigree trim. "What can I do for you, this evening? I'm afraid the Headmaster is out, or I'm sure you'd be asking him whatever you're about to ask me."

At the knowing look from her former Head of House, Hermione blushed. Was she that obvious? In order to redirect, she cleared her throat and asked her question, "Erm, right. Well, the thing is… I wanted to have my seventh years be able to publish their final thesis papers at the end of summer term, so I wondered if that was an available option to them? O-or does Hogwarts own the rights to their work - Our work, even?"

The Deputy Headmistress tilted her head where one of her ears seemed put more forward than the other, as if she were having a hard time hearing Hermione. As the younger woman finished bumbling through her perfectly valid question (one she'd intended on asking anyway, but now seemed a better time than most due to convenience), Professor McGonagall smiled and nodded her head.

"That is indeed a lovely idea, one we haven't used in many years. I'm afraid Bathsheda wasn't very encouraging when it came to publications. She preferred to stand on her own reputation, rather than seek out the opinions of others."

"I'm confused, Professor. Ancient Runes is a highly academic occupation that relies heavily on connections and sharing of ideas through discourse and publications. Why on earth would Professor Babbling think otherwise?"

McGonagall tilted her lips in a moué of amusement. "One tends to shy away from things that are not successful. Professor Babbling did not share the same literary success as - well, as you."

Hermione blushed again and decided her own consternation was excuse enough to ask about the Headmaster. "You said the Headmaster is away?"

She received a long stare over reading glasses, closely followed by a derisive snort and a flippant response, "Who knows where that man is off to? I promise you, every time there's an overabundance of paperwork to be done, Headmaster Snape will find a way to make himself scarce."

The new Ancient Runes professor was taken aback by this tone and rebutted, "Surely there's a logical reason. Surely he wouldn't be so inconstant as that."

Professor McGonagall's expression seemed satisfied on some point as her eyes scanned the room, and conceded, "Oh, Aye, you're right. He doesn't do it every time." She sat back in her own burgundy leather chair, keeping her back ramrod straight. Hermione tried valiantly to hide her enthusiasm on the subject, but it must have been obvious, for the older woman smiled knowingly and continued, "It's likely his poor ailing mother again, but sometimes that reason chafes a bit. After Bathsheda left, none of the rest of us have family to fuss over, so I suspect I'm just a bit green-eyed. That and this thrice-damned paperwork is due Monday." She sighed a long-suffering, dramatic sigh, "I _suppose_ his hiring a Histories professor took precedence, and with term starting, he's likely stocking his mother up on her prescribed potions."

Hermione devoured the new information. Snape's mother was still alive? Why did she think he didn't have any family left? When she couldn't leave that question alone in her mind, she asked the older woman about it, "I'm sorry, for some reason I thought his family was all gone, but his mother is ailing?"

Something about Professor McGonagall's demeanor suggested she was indulging Hermione's curiosity as some sort of favor. Hermione supposed she was. "Poor Eileen, she hid for years, you know. Even Severus thought she'd gone, at least until a few years ago, when she finally wrote to him. I hear she moved to the coast for her health - lungs, I think. Every now and again, he pops over for a visit." Her Cheshire cat grin could not be mistaken, and Hermione was entirely embarrassed to have her interest in the Headmaster found out. "I suppose he hasn't mentioned it?"

The new professor shook her head in the negative and redirected, unsure of Professor McGonagall's stance on her feelings for Professor Snape. "S-so, the papers? The children can seek publication?"

"Of course, granted they cite Hogwarts as their facility."

"Thank you, Professor. I'll work the steps into the syllabus." With her face blushing as deep as the leather in the professor's office, Hermione turned to take her leave.

The professor's voice stopped her before she could make it to the door. "Hermione, when will you call me Minerva like I've asked you to?"

She turned back towards her mentor, fighting further embarrassment. "I-I'm sorry. I promise it's not out of disrespect."

"It's _respectful_ to grant me my request in how to be addressed, or had you not thought of it that way?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "No! I hadn't! I'm sorry, Pro-Minerva."

She smiled her acceptance. "That's better. You might want to practice that with the other professors, too."

Hermione nodded contritely and got to the hallway when she thought she heard, "It'll be hard to call him 'Professor Snape' in the throes of passion."

.0.

"What!?" Hermione scurried back to the open door and stared in wide-eyed shock. "Minerva!" Her scandalized exclamation was out of her mouth before she could even censor herself. Poor lass.

Minerva's best replication of Dumbledore's doddering fool act stared back at the girl in the doorway, "What's wrong, dear?"

The Herbology professor sat slumped down below the head of the armchair facing her desk and mischievously whispered, "See? She's got the hang of it already."

Glaring at her long-time colleague, Minerva chastised under her breath, "Hist! Pomona, drink your tea."

From across the room, Hermione's mouth stuttered open in confusion, "I swear I heard you say something to me about using Professor Snape's name."

Waving her hand in a dismissive manner, Minerva thought furiously on how to misdirect what Pomona had called out in jest, "Oh, that was nothing to worry about. I merely said… I said it would hardly do to call the Headmaster 'Professor Snape' in passing."

Hermione looked back at Minerva as if she had lost her mind. The older witch bit her lips and glanced at Pomona, still hidden, who was turning purple trying not to laugh.

Trying a tactic of being busy, she responded, "I'm terribly sorry, but it's getting late and I've got this veritable mountain of paperwork to handle before the week is out. Is there anything else you need?" She started shifting and stacking scrolls and parchments all over her desk. It was a time-honored tradition Albus had taught her well.

It was almost a pity when it worked. Hermione shifted back a step and replied, "Oh, I'm sorry to keep you. Of course not, have a good evening, Profess- um, Minerva."

"Very good, Hermione, you do the same. Would you do me a favor and pull the door to?"

They both waited until Hermione's shoes could be heard on the stone steps at the end of the hallway before bursting out in laughter.

Minerva speared her friend with another glare, chuckling, "You are an evil witch, Pomona Sprout."

The middle-aged professor protested with a laugh, "I am no more than you are! I can't help it if the girl's unobservant!"

"Yes, well, the next time, I won't be so likely to let you hide. What makes you so sure that you're right about him returning her feelings?"

Pomona held up her hand, palm forward, "Now that would be telling, and where's the fun in that?"

"You've just been-"

"I've just been strategically enhancing my chances of winning the pot."

Minerva tried giving her fellow Head of House a stern glare, but found she couldn't hold it for very long. Her face twisted into a hysterical giggle as she slumped back in her seat. "So, what do we do now?"

Pomona grinned and leaned forward in her seat. "We should take this weekend to relax and pamper ourselves. Term starts week after next, so personal time is about to get very, very scarce. I also have it on good authority that Severus won't be back until Monday morning, so there's really nothing we can do about him, now, is there?"

With a quick flick of her wand, a silver tabby cat Patronus materialized on her desk. "Find Septima, Sybill and Aurora. Ask them to join us in my office for refreshments, if they please." The tabby trebled and scattered out the sliver still open at the heavy office door.

"Minerva?" Pomona leaned forward and set her tea down on the polished walnut desk.

The Head of Gryffindor raised an eyebrow in query to her counterpart, urging her to ask her question as she took a sip of her own tea.

"Who did you say Severus pulled in for the Histories position?"

Thinking back to the previous day, she tried to remember if she'd seen more than the tail of a green robe sweeping around the corner when Argus had shown them up to the Headmaster's office. "I didn't say."

"Was it a man, or a woman?"

Minerva knew immediately what Pomona was thinking, to use the new person to poke at the situation between Severus and Hermione, but she had no information to give just yet. She thought back harder to remember if the headmaster had given any inclination as to the person's identity.

"You know…? I really couldn't say."

.o.

Monday morning breakfast was nearly business as usual for Hogwarts, if by nearly, one really meant not. Whatever Minerva and the other biddies had been up to over the weekend, it was obvious by their absence that the festivities carried a bit beyond propriety. Severus looked to see which of his teachers were actually in attendance and was surprised to find that the only other occupants of the room were Argus, Sybill, and Hermione. Since his approach was passing the caretaker on his way out of the Great Hall, Severus found himself nearly alone with the object of his interest.

There was an odd moment when the older man actually winked at the Headmaster, but he couldn't for the life of him fathom why. Twitching a quick and confused smile back at his longtime colleague, Severus continued forward and looked back to the Head Table.

Hermione had not seen him yet, so he took his time watching her as he approached. She glanced to the Divination professor, who had apparently appropriated Hermione's traditional seat. Granted, it had only been hers for a few weeks and it had been Sybill's beforehand, so that was likely where the confusion lay.

His eyes were drawn back to the younger woman by an errant beam of sunlight fabricated by the enchanted ceiling.

Her hair was pulled up and away from her neck, which gave him a lovely view of the elegant wings of her clavicles above the rounded collar of her gray muggle sheath dress. She quietly sat and read a garishly jacketed book that, once he rounded the back of the table and approached behind her, he could see was a book about - what else, but runes.

He approached the table and nodded his head to Professor Trelawney absently. She was muttering under her breath about the tea leaves in her cup, anyway, so no real contact was necessary. He shook his head at the fuzzy-headed fortune teller and focused back on the young Ancient Runes professor.

Smiling, he considered his ritual of leaning down behind her. Should he do it again? What had she thought of the scene she witnessed on Friday? Was she engrossed in her book because she found it fascinating, or because she wanted to ignore him?

Remembering his resolve to be himself, only 'interested', he decided to act as if nothing had changed and bent to greet her. He took a breath as he got closer, and the heady fragrance of her bath, fresh and clean and reminiscent of honeyed pastries, rose to greet him. He swallowed the scent with relish and spied the title of the book she was reading in the small header script at the top of the page.

" _The Galdrabók: An Icelandic Book of Magic_. Fascinating. Muggle?"

He'd unfortunately been too occupied with the impression he was trying to make to notice he'd chosen to speak just as she was sipping her tea. In her surprise, she inhaled and choked, coughing madly to keep from drowning in drink and trying desperately not to spit the beverage all over the table. Flustered, Severus pulled her chair out so she could bend over to cough out, snatched the cup and book out of her hand, placing them out of the way on the table. Shoving the book safely out of the way of any spilled tea, he then bent to catch her eyes.

"Hermione, my apologies! Can you breathe? Are you alright?"

Her face was reddened and a vein stood out on her forehead, but she nodded and placed her hand on the edge of the table to steady herself as she bent over. Severus cast a few drying charms and conjured a handkerchief to press into her hands before reaching up to tentatively rub his palm across her upper back. She finally seemed to calm her coughing fit and patted her face with his kerchief. As she slowly started sitting up, he remained kneeling in front of her and his hand slid from her back to her arm.

They stared at each other as her coloring returned to normal and he found himself reaching up to gently push loose curls out of her face. His normally warm hands were cool against her heated skin. The calloused pads of his long fingers slowed down and caressed the pliant silk of her small cheek, his thumb taking its own leave to ply the corner of her mouth, searching out its own little secrets.

Trelawney was remembered, yet still distracted with her tea leaves, but the moment was made awkward. He pulled his hand away from her face, but not before noticing that Hermione might very well have leaned into it. Was it his imagination that saw the loss in her eyes as he stood up and brushed the floor from his trousers?

Hermione coughed lightly with the handkerchief pressed to her mouth, but kept her honey-chrysoberyl eyes focused on him. His brows knitted and he asked again, "Are you alright?"

She cleared her throat a few times before getting her 'yes, thank you' out roughly, but her smile faltered at the arrival of a newcomer into the Great Hall.

Straightening away from Hermione, Severus bowed slightly to her and turned to take his seat in the middle of the table as the interloper swished her petticoats towards them. Tres-Cerise/Lucius was in a completely different style outfit this day, looking younger and more flirtatious in an Edwardian day costume that let her use a corset to ruthless efficiency. Severus knew by experience that Lucius loved to tight-waist, so was not surprised at the ease with which Tres-Cerise navigated the long walk to the High Table in such a contraption.

He glanced to Hermione to see her reaction and her previously reddened face, which had settled into a lovely peaches-and-cream flush, was now wan and pale by comparison. Tres-Cerise continued her saunter and determinedly took the only seat left between the two of them. Severus rolled his eyes away from the Histories professor, but quickly glanced back to see Hermione's reaction.

By the time his eyes found her again, past the ridiculous pile of hair Lucius had piled atop his head, she'd returned her attention to her book and started eating again.

Tres-Cerise would have nothing of being ignored and gave a conspiratorial wink before stating, "Professor Snape, you simply _must_ introduce me to this lovely young woman, here." She smirked at Severus who momentarily narrowed his eyes, but leaned forward to perform his politesse.

"Professor Granger, Professor Trelawney, this is Miss Tres-Cerise Malfoy, our new History of Magic Professor."

Sybill ignored them all and kept muttering into her tea. Just what had she put in that tea, anyway? He made a mental note to check with the elves about securing the cooking sherry.

Tres-Cerise, of course, looked on with confident superiority and bowed her head to the younger woman, but Hermione appeared to have taken to choking again. Severus began rising from his chair, but she saw and waved him back, clearing her throat as quietly as she could. "No, I'm fine, it was just the tea from before. Professor Malfoy, pleasure."

From the tone of her voice and the slightly perturbed twist of her lips, he was sure she was anything but pleased to meet the older 'woman', but before he could read too much into it, she'd softened her expression into a smile.

Tres-Cerise smiled back and turned to her plate as it filled with breakfast fare, keeping up a stream of casual conversation as she ate.

"Now, Hermione… I may call you Hermione, right?" She barely waited for a nod to continue, "Thank you. I see from your book that you are a true professional that takes her subject seriously. I find that refreshing. I mean, there are certain professors that have taught here, and certainly the one that came before you, that seemed to rest on their own laurels, as it were. No attempt to further their knowledge in their chosen field."

Severus looked at Tres-Cerise as if she'd lost her mind. He'd never heard Lucius be this… this chatty, at least in public. Perhaps this was the change in him from Lucius to Tres-Cerise? Was he more able to speak freely without the weight of being Lucius? It posed an interesting question he should likely think upon, but his attention was drawn back to Tres-Cerise. She was leaning forward slightly to try and engage Hermione in discussion, but Hermione seemed to be trying to ignore her. His eyes flew back in alarm to his old friend at his next statement.

"I also see that you choose to dress in a muggle fashion. Making a statement, are we? I'm sure that keeping a professional appearance is of utmost importance at such a pre-eminent school as Hogwarts. One should never appear slovenly in such a position of power."

What in blue blazes was she gabbing on about? Was she _trying_ to insult Hermione? He flicked a light stinging hex at her to catch her attention, but he was ignored.

"Don't you agree, Headmaster? I'm sure you've considered very well what it means to be a professional female in a teaching position at this school. She should be a paragon, a font of wisdom in her field, a beauteous reminder of the pinnacle able to be achieved with application and study." This was delivered with a lifted fork, as if it were a torch to the world and Tres-Cerise was reciting a great soliloquy on stage. The vein on Hermione's forehead started pulsating, again.

Severus tried another tactic to stop what was quickly becoming a train wreck. "Professor, put your fork down. This isn't a pub."

Tres-Cerise shot an irritated glance back at Severus and lowered her fork, but kept on with the monologue. Hermione very determinedly turned a page. Loudly.

"I, for one, feel gratified to be chosen for such an esteemed position, and I choose to show it with my appearance-"

This was getting out of hand and Severus was desperate to stop it. He shot a slightly stronger stinging hex at her shoulder, but he was once again ignored.

"-A true lady takes care to look her best at all times, don't you think, Hermione?" Tres-Cerise leaned slightly forward to try to gain the younger woman's attention, but she was only spared a glance and another page-turn. She sallied forth, "We shouldn't take advantage of our positions and just dress as we please-"

Severus was growing more agitated, and was nearly certain Lucius was insulting Hermione whether he'd intended to or not. He needed to stop Tres-Cerise from talking, but what could he do?

"-or even rest on our own laurels, so to speak." She paused long enough to take another breath, but soon enough, Tres-Cerise looked to take up the soapbox again. Before she could say anything, Severus panicked and kicked her in the ankle.

"Severus!", she squeaked back at him, and both Hermione and Sybill looked at the two of them incredulously.

His cheeks were likely the color of the tomatoes on his plate, but he grumbled back to Tres-Cerise, "Cease your prattling and let the staff eat in peace, Professor Malfoy."

Sybill returned to her toast and tea, and after a few moments, he saw Hermione slowly return to her book. Dammit. He'd drawn more attention to the situation than he should have and goaded Tres-Cerise into revealing their first name basis before it was acceptable. Now it was obvious that they'd known each other before. What would she think now? She'd stopped turning pages, so either she was re-reading from being distracted, or she'd stopped reading because she was upset.

Tres-Cerise blithely picked up her chatter after a few bites, "This is simply delicious. Are you quite finished with the pepper, _Professor_ Snape?"

He picked up the pepper mill and nearly slammed it down next to her hand.

She looked up at him in confusion. "Thank you," she'd said in a wary tone. Good. Perhaps she now realized what kind of damage she might have done.

The table was quiet for several minutes, and Severus had just started eating again when Pomona ambled into the Great Hall. She was quiet and walking with her eyes half closed, but as soon as she made it close enough to ascertain a new person at the table, her eyes opened wide and she squealed in delight.

"Oh, you must be the new Histories Professor!"

Pomona sat in the empty seat between Hermione and Trelawney, effectively trapping the young witch next to Tres-Cerise. The Hufflepuff leaned forward around Hermione and gushed, "Do tell me all about yourself. You look absolutely charming in that dress. What's your name, dear?"

Lucius sounded entirely too pleased to have someone that wanted to talk to him. "Good morning. Please, call me Tres-Cerise-"

Hermione made some sort of snuffling noise, which she quickly apologized for and stood to take her leave.

When everyone at the table looked at her in surprise, she pled, "Pardon me, I'm just going to my rooms to try and rest out my coughing fit. Please enjoy your breakfast. Good morning."

The Hufflepuff Head of House was true to her character in becoming immediately concerned for Hermione, and asked what Severus felt he could not. "Hermione, are you alright? Poppy should be back this afternoon, should you need her."

"Sorry, Pro- ahem, Pomona. I'll be fine, I'm sure." Hermione smiled in turn to everyone but as soon as her smile turned to Tres-Cerise, it faltered. She reached up to press Severus' handkerchief to her mouth and left.

Severus couldn't be bothered to pay attention after that. It was like the sun had left the room. He looked up at the enchanted ceiling and saw clouds rolling in. Was it, perhaps, foretelling the tone of the school year?

So distracted was he that he missed the part where Pomona curled a conniving smile at the new Histories Professor and crooned as she scooted over into her normal chair, "Lucius Malfoy, you delightful person, you. This is going to be a banner year, and I'm completely looking forward to it."

Tres-Cerise cackled in delight that her newfound coworker quickly realized the situation and planned to join in the fun.

Banner year, indeed.

.o.

Hermione made it almost to the staircase before she spurted laughter from behind her hand. She'd been holding Severus' handkerchief over her mouth to try and reign in her outburst in the Great Hall, and as soon as she felt safely out of earshot, she let out a graceless snort.

This had to be some kind of joke. She'd heard some pretty obnoxious names in the magical world, but 'Tres-Cerise Malfoy' just had to take the cake. If she played with it just a little, it roughly translated to 'Very-Cherry Bad Fairy'.

It sounded like a stage name, not a Hogwarts' professor's name. That and Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she'd met Miss Malfoy before. Perhaps she just looked like an older, feminine version of Draco? She shook her head and thought back, past the vaguely offensive monologue of Hogwarts' new drama queen, back to her own coughing episode.

And Severus.

His reaction was… stunning. She'd been partially focused on reading her book, but she'd known when he came in the Hall. Hermione had a feeling she'd always know when he entered a room, now. There was just something electric about him that charged up her spine like a tuning fork. He'd walked straight past Professor Trelawney - Sybill - who had taken Hermione's seat this morning, to her consternation. She couldn't bear the thought of sitting right next to the older woman, so she had taken Pomona's seat, hoping the Hufflepuff would be late to breakfast, but that had put her only two seats away from the Headmaster's chair.

As he got closer, she held still, wondering what he would do. Would he act any differently? Would he say anything about what she'd seen Friday last in his office? Her mouth grew incredibly parched, so she'd taken a very shaky sip of tea, but he'd leaned down behind her and spoke in that amazing, gravelly baritone. She'd inhaled while trying to swallow and ended up choking on her tea. Before she'd known it, she was facing him, her hands were emptied… and his hand was soothing her back.

It was such an intimate thing to do, by comparison to his usual lack of touch, that she was almost instantly shocked into calm. Her face felt wet and red, but he'd thoughtfully cast a drying charm and handed her his handkerchief. She patted her face dry and coughed a few times more, but the look of genuine concern on his face was enthralling.

Even more amazing was his hand coming up to brush her hair out of her face. It was likely an absolute mess after bending over in a fit, but he just gently swept it away and held his hand at her cheek.

His hand was cool and dry, and she felt the calloused thumb play with the corner of her mouth.

It was enchanting. If she hadn't been in love with him before, she would be now, that was for certain.

Smiling to herself as she reached her quarters on the fourth floor, she remembered the look of irritation on his face when she'd looked back at him from seeing Miss Malfoy enter the room. His entire face hardened, much like the old Professor Snape she'd known as a student.

It was one more puzzle piece that told her that, regardless of Miss Malfoy's casual address, Severus was not interested in the older woman.

When she'd finagled an introduction out of him, Tres-Cerise nodded over to Hermione as if she were the Queen of Sheba, entitled to every right of privilege. If her name hadn't been absolutely ridiculous enough, that attitude surely was. She was a Malfoy, if ever Hermione had met one.

The portrait to her quarters smiled in return for the password, letting her through without even a bark from her portrait-mate. She closed the door behind her and flopped down on her yellow chintz sofa, throwing her arm over her eyes and grinning at the supercilious speech Miss Malfoy had given on a professional woman's appearance.

Severus had looked ready to spit nails to get her to stop. It was all rather funny, and she wondered if she should make her way casually up to visit the Headmaster before lunch. She knew he had a ten o'clock meeting with Professor Malfoy, but reviewing syllabus outlines wouldn't take very long, would it?

She could sneak up to his office, and lean down behind his chair. She could even be brave enough to nibble his earlobe after the intimacy of this morning… couldn't she? Her nose scrunched in doubt as she lifted his folded handkerchief to her mouth again, playing the soft linen on her lips.

It smelled of green, grassy things and new parchment.

She rolled her eyes, and smiled.

.o.

Severus ran his hand over his face and tried to explain, "Lucius-"

"Tres-Cerise," she corrected.

He paused, "Whatever your name is," then glared at his old friend as he sat at his desk while she played with the hem of her skirts. "You're being ridiculous. I don't need to see your magical tucking panties, and I certainly don't need to try them on!"

Tres-Cerise stopped pulling up her petticoats to twist her face in revulsion. "For Merlin's Sake, Severus, that's unhygienic! I wouldn't share my gaff with you. I'll just conjure a new pair from home for you to try on."

Merlin, why was she so fixated on this? "No! And put your skirt down! This is the Headmaster's office, not a burlesque."

Her tone was playful, "You can't imagine how comfortable they are." Still the skirts rose. He saw curvy legs encased in soft white stockings, and looked away.

Dropping his hands from his face to lean on the desk in exasperation, he returned, "How is magically erasing your manhood in any way comfortable?"

"It's not erasing, it's hiding. Think about it. No balls catching or pinching as you sit down. No awkward shifting in your trousers. No embarrassing erections being found out… Honestly, I can't imagine _not_ wearing them, now."

Now, _there_ was a reason that caught Severus' attention. He'd had the distinct issue of having to hide his rather evident reactions to Hermione these past several weeks, and it was nearly tempting enough to be able to circumvent that, but it still bothered him. The restriction sounded horrible. "That's all fine, well, and good for you… but not for me."

"You don't know until you try it," she sang.

Severus looked back at Tres-Cerise, and shouldn't have been shocked, but he was. There she stood, holding her skirts up over her waist, twisting back and forth so he could see the flattening garment in a beige vee between her legs.

He blushed deeply and turned away, shaking his head. "I said no." It sounded like his protestations were becoming weak, even to _his_ ears.

Tres-Cerise knew when she'd won. Her blonde eyebrows waggled in temptation, "Just once?"

Said the spider to the fly. He glared at the blonde and she danced her skirts back and forth, showing off the gaff in full view of every portrait in the room.

Most of the portrait inhabitants had already fled, but a few stayed behind to get a good look before discreetly shifting out of view. Albus and Phineas took the longest to leave, and he knew they'd likely stick their noses in when next he was alone. Tres-Cerise pointed a leg out towards Phineas and modeled a bit more flamboyantly. The former Slytherin Headmaster actually leered as he caught Severus' gimlet eye, and left.

That alone was embarrassing enough. "Fucking hell, what will it take to shut you up about this?"

A triumphant grin spread across her face, telling Severus what he needed to know.

"Fine," he capitulated. "Just this once, and if I _ever_ hear about this again, I'll know who to murder."

"Yes!" She crowed, "Fantastic. Just a moment-" Whipping out her wand from her cleavage with a saucy wink, she conjured a soft handful of cloth with serged edges. As she handed them over to Severus, she said, "Now, just pull them on as you would your pants-"

"I think I can figure that part out," he interjected with a sardonic eyebrow. Before suffering the indignity of what he was about to do, he pulled out his own wand and changed the color of the gaff to a shining, satiny black. After he reseated his wand in its holster up his sleeve, he held out the oddly proportioned knickers to get a better view of just what he was getting into.

He let out a heavy sigh and bent at the waist, shoving one leg at a time through the leg holes.

Tres-Cerise giggled, "Is it worth asking you to take your trousers off?"

Severus glared up at her, which should have been enough of an answer in itself. She really shouldn't press her luck.

Thankfully, she capitulated, "Alright. Well, I suppose they'll work over, just as well."

He resumed pulling the knickers up over his trousers.

She shifted forward hesitantly, looking to lean in and help when he got stuck mid-thigh. "No, here, let me help you, your coat tail is stuck… wait… almost-"

"What in the world?"

The distinct, clearly feminine voice startled both of them into snapping their heads around to look to the door.

No.

Oh, dear Merlin, no.

Blood rushed to his face, then back out again; his cheeks tingled and he felt slightly faint. This looked horrible, he was sure. He stood up, and tried to step back from Tres-Cerise, who was busy shoving her skirts back into place from where they'd not fully fallen down. Had she seen that detail? Did he look like he was wearing women's underwear?

He jerked his head, looking between Hermione and Tres-Cerise. The latter had a very contemplative expression, but the former was looking back and forth with a face that surely was either horrified or shocked.

Hermione's gaping mouth snapped shut. "Nevermind, then."

She turned on her heels, and almost made it back around the door when Severus' brain finally kicked into gear. He desperately called out, "Oh for _fuck's_ sake, Hermione! Hermione stop!"

She did, but only to look back over her shoulder and reply, "No, I think you two need to figure out what you're doing before I come back."

He growled, and returned, "We are not doing anything."

Tres-Cerise laughed. She fucking laughed!

Both of Hermione's eyebrows shot to her hairline, but before she could say anything, the instigator of this whole mess piped up with an entirely too cheerful tone. "Well, you _are_ trying on my undergarments."

He glared at the betrayer. "Lucius, you are not helping!"

"What?"

That was Hermione. Oh, Christ, he'd let Lucius' secret slip, but damn it to hell, he couldn't muster up any regret for all the trouble Tres-Cerise had caused him.

Hermione looked fascinated, and stepped back into the room. "Lucius?" She was clearly asking for confirmation, but Tres-Cerise preened. She fucking preened!

Severus had had enough of this and gritted his teeth. "Yes, Lucius. He's decided to cross-dress, and says he enjoys it, but I think he's really just trying to make my life miserable."

"Severus, that hurts."

"Then loosen your corset, you wazzock! What do you think you've been doing to _me_? Every time I make headway with Hermione, you find some _ungodly_ way to bollocks it up!"

Tres-Cerise's husky laughter irritated him immensely. He tried to move to sit down at his desk, but the gaff was in the way. Reaching past his coat tails, he tried to yank down the undergarment, but the tight elastic was pulling against the wool of his trousers, getting stuck.

"Get these blasted things off me if you want to keep them. Three more seconds and they're banished."

"Um, that might not be advisable since you don't know what-all will be banished with it."

He grunted, and his embarrassment clouded his reasoning and balance. His hip caught against the desk, he lost his footing and with a painful crack, and he ended up on the floor like some overturned beetle. He was merely thankful to the loyal castle for enlarging the wool rug under his desk to catch him.

This was it. He was going to die of shame, undone by a pair of men's knickers.

He dropped all his limbs to the floor in defeat, and groaned, "Get out. Just… get out."

A blonde pile of hair disappeared away from his desk when he opened his eyes, and he heard her move away to the door. She still had an amused lilt to her voice as she called out, "I think I'll leave helping you to Hermione."

"Why, thank you," Hermione warbled back to his ex-friend.

She wasn't leaving? He blinked up to his office ceiling, confused by the shadows the torchlight was throwing across it. His face still burned with humiliation, but his heart was rising in hope.

A shadow came around the corner of his desk, and he looked over to see Hermione peer down at him.

She tilted her head, and asked, "Headway, huh?"

Was she upset? The look in her eye said not, but he wasn't sure. He shrugged his shoulders against the floor and rolled his eyes, beyond any point of pride. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

To his surprise, she smoothly knelt down onto the rug beside him. Apparently, Hogwarts approved, for the rug suddenly became much more soft and cushiony. Just what was the old castle up to?

With a determined air, Hermione deftly pulled the offensive undergarment off his legs and over his boots. Aborting a move to toss them over her shoulder, she looked at the black satin in her hand, back to him with a thoughtful smile, then reached over him to open up the first drawer she could grab and shove them in. When the drawer slid shut, she stayed where she was, on her hands and knees across his prone body.

He was so tempted to just reach out and slide his hand along her waistline, but held his hands out of the way for fear of scaring her off. Her hands walked over to bracket his head, braced on the carpet and some of his hair. He looked up to her, and was fully and completely captivated.

She slowly bent closer to whisper, "What other manners of speaking would apply?"

He chuffed a breath of laughter, reached for one of her hands, and pulled her off balance to drop down onto him. She squeaked a little, but held still, now anticipating his response.

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I can think of a few things that might _apply_."

Her lips curled into an indulgent smile. "Do I need to interview for this _application_?"

He regarded her for a few moments, completely in love with the open admiration in her eyes. He knew then that she was in this as well, and - it seemed - nearly as deeply as him. His hands slid up to hold the sides of her head as he lifted to meet her face with his. His hands tingled with untapped magic.

"You've already got the job," he said, just before meeting her lips with his for the first time.

His mind spun away as he lost himself to the dizzying heights of finally kissing Hermione.

.o.

Argus and Pomona were waiting for Tres-Cerise as she sauntered down the Headmaster's staircase.

The Herbology professor was the first to break. "Well? Did it work?"

The caretaker interrupted, "O'course it worked. I told you it would. Just look at her face, there's winning all over it."

Pomona didn't give up though, and looked beseechingly to the new Histories professor. Tres-Cerise polished her fingernails on the sleeve of her shirt and flung her hand out in satisfaction. "It worked like a charm."

The older woman laughed. "Trust a Malfoy to pull off a scheme like that."

Argus leaned in around Pomona and asked eagerly, "What are the odds they're gonna do it tonight?"

Tres-Cerise blinked her surprise, then laughed. "I honestly don't know. I tried to stick around to listen outside the door, but they were too quiet to hear, so I left."

"They'd better not!", cried Pomona. "I've got twenty galleons on tomorrow being the big night!"

"I'm sorry, my dear, I honestly-" The blonde broke off as a loud series of shouts rang down from atop the stairs, and the entire castle rumbled and shook. Two of the three co-conspirators looked at each other in confusion before rushing up the flight to the Headmaster's office. Argus had a smirk on his face and pulled up the rear, patting the walls. Tres-Cerise beat them both and deftly opened the door to stick her head in, but then pulled sharply back as the door closed itself in her face.

She stared at the door, then looked to her co-workers in bewilderment.

Pomona recovered first. "Well? What's going on? Are they trying to kill each other?"

Tres-Cerise smirked as she finally registered what little bit she'd seen. "Well, they're certainly aiming for a _little_ death!"

"Wha-No!" She slapped her hand to the door. "You stop that this instant! You're not supposed to have sex until tomorrow!"

Tres-Cerise laughed at her antics. "I don't think they'll hear you, now."

Argus crowed with glee, "Ooooh-hoo-hoo! Ante-up, Hufflepuff! I win! I win! Minerva's gonna have kittens! Haha!"

The older pair made their way back down the stairs, but Miss Malfoy stayed behind. As another chorus of lovemaking reached her ears, she peered down to the gargoyle to make sure they had left before reaching for the door handle again. Before she could grasp the handle, however, the door unlatched itself and slowly crept back open a few inches.

Tres-Cerise smiled and caressed the doorframe. This castle seemed to know what she was about, and seemed to agree that there was nothing like a good bout of voyeurism to cap off the night!

The… end?

THE MOST IMPORTANT NOTE! Gender is obviously in question for a large part of this story for Lucius/Tres-Cerise. It is not my intention to insult or demean the issue of gender roles or transgenderism. This is a story, and I am trying to stay in the character's heads. In this story, I think Severus knows very well that his friend Lucius is sexually curious from past encounters, and has seen him in women's clothing before. There is a VERY large degree of difference between dressing as the opposite gender and realizing that you have an incorrect gender assignment. Lucius is at a crossroads in his life where he is exploring what it means to be the gender he wasn't assigned and still hasn't fully realized that he can be gender fluid. In this story, I feel that's where he's headed. Severus also has a hard time, after knowing this person for somewhere around forty years, changing the personal pronoun use in his head. I think this is something not uncommon when faced with someone exploring their gender expression. All of this is meant with respect, so if I've misstepped somehow, please let me know. :)

Daghrise vs Degrees - forgive me. That is my own bastardization of a rune translation, one I would have easily made if I were stressed and tired, just to be a little bit spiteful and to make sure someone on the other end was paying attention. There is "some" merit to the "mistranslation": daghrise is roughly translated to the distance one can travel in a sun's course.

WVD - you know if it's a muggle-derived wizarding tech, Arthur's gonna have it.

Avocado porn - not the green fruit you get in deconstructivist hippie breakfast joints. Here, avocado (according to urban dictionary online) refers to "a homosexual who is indiscernibly gay. Because avacados are fruits, but do not look or taste much like fruits, the term is applied to gay people who do not fit the 'Will & Grace' stereotypes". In this instance, I'm using it to say that Ron enjoys his homosexuality but does not appear in public to be homosexual. In no way am I trashing gay porn ;)

Suleiman Babbling - Bathsheda means Murmur, but her name always makes me think Bathsheba, who gave birth to Solomon. An alternative spelling to Solomon is Suleiman (means man of peace). I decided that having a random brother was easier than having a random child. Interesting note: Suleiman the Magnificent was the 10th ruler of the Ottoman Empire and was considered an extremely learned man.

Interview questions. They were pulled directly from several sites with questions on interviewing teachers.

Classroom and Office locations - there are no notes on any of JKR's maps or movie maps that state exactly where the AR classrooms or offices are. There doesn't seem to be a necessity for the offices to be next to the classrooms (just convenient in some ways). I've chosen what I did arbitrarily. Sue me )

Cock-a-licky soup - LOL rather a weird reference to the result from giving a blow job (aka pearl necklace, aka bukake) play on words from Cock-a-leekie soup. It's a Scottish soup dish consisting of leeks and peppered chicken stock, often thickened with rice, or sometimes barley. The original recipe added prunes during cooking, and traditionalists still garnish with a julienne of prunes. (pulled from wikipedia, meh) also, LOL: prunes. ;)

Ado vs Adieu. The actual term is "without further ado", popularly from Shakespeare meaning without any further action or speech. I like the play on words to make it also mean that she left without saying goodbye. (shrugs)

Limerence is a state of mind which results from a romantic attraction to another person and typically includes obsessive thoughts and fantasies and a desire to form or maintain a relationship with the object of love and have one's feelings reciprocated. (cite: Wikipedia, go sue me) You probably knew this. I did not.

Hermione's portrait door. 1782 Lady Hamilton (as Nature) by George Romney. Lovely English painting.

Grandmother Lobelia Malfoy - made up, sorry. I was watching Ouran Host Club just before writing that scene, so Lobelia was fresh on my mind (Lo-be-liaaaaa! LOL)

Georgian Era Gilflurt - Gilflurt means "A proud minks, a vain capricious woman," Definition taken from _The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue_ , originally by Francis Grose. Georgian Era is the time in which the term was most commonly used, and also refers to Tres-Cerise's mode of dress when we first meet her.

"Hist" - archaic exclamation to bring attention to something or to call for silence.

"Pull the door to" Obviously when you pull a door to, you pull it until it is closed or nearly so. The Oxford English Dictionary gives numerous examples from 1673 on.

The Galdrabók: An Icelandic Book of Magic by Stephen E. Flowers, PhD - (it's real) The text consists of a substantial topical introduction that covers the history, theory and practice of magic in Iceland in the medieval and early modern periods. This is followed by the translation of the Galdrabok itself with copious explanatory notes. There are also a number of appendices which contain magical material from other Icelandic books of magic as well as spells from other Germanic areas. (summary from Google Books)

The thumb searching out its own little secrets - I always found it charming when someone said you keep your secrets in the corners of your mouth. I'm kind of saying Sev is looking for Hermione's secrets ;)

Soapbox - Hyde Park, London is (apparently) known for its Sunday soapbox orators, who have assembled at Speakers' Corner since 1872 to discuss religion, politics, and other topics.

Gaff - a specially designed undergarment that some people use to hide or tuck the penis, presenting a female appearance of genitalia ;) The basic ones just look like granny panties, but there are many, many kinds and shapes. For this story, I'm choosing to have Tres-Cerise use something that looks like a traditional ladies' panty (bikini, high leg, satin).

Wazzock - according to Buzzfeed, it's one of the "18 Very Sweary British Words You Need to Use Right Now". It is a Northern slang, but I wasn't sure if this was anachronistic, so I looked it up further: "Possibly from _wiseacre_ , influenced by _pillock_ , or possibly _wazz_ \+ _-ock_. First attested in the 1984 novel _When the Martians Land in Huddersfield_ by Mike Harding" - _Balderdash and Piffle_ (2010), page 242 (OMG I LOVE THIS WORD!)


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